


Mental Reflections and Jail Time are the Same Thing

by CipherCifear



Series: Strider's Schadenfreude [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Child Abuse, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, no shipping of Dave and Bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 21:27:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18819352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CipherCifear/pseuds/CipherCifear
Summary: Bro Strider has been in an out of jail his whole life. Some of the offenses he is proud of, some of them he'd rather forget, rather leave them locked away in the back of his mind. Because if he thinks about the past then he'll have to face the person who is now:and he isn't sure he'd like to face the truth.





	Mental Reflections and Jail Time are the Same Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DT_Marley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DT_Marley/gifts).



> Please keep tags in mind, there are some dark themes of what Bro has gone through and what he puts Dave through. 
> 
> THERE IS NO DAVE/BRO SHIPPING IN THIS FIC.

Bro Strider, yes just Bro you aren’t getting a full name so don’t bother fucking asking for one, has been in and out of jail all of his life. The stories he could tell would shock and blow minds if he opened up those perfect lips and started talking, going on and on about his exploits and his drunken wild nights; most of these rehashes could get him into peoples pants if told right, with enough alcohol to cloud their better judgment and make him seem all the more amusing, to seem less dangerous then he actually was, but there are just some stories you don’t fucking tell. Bro had plenty of those. Bro had baggage enough for three and a half asshats and he kept his mouth locked down like Fort Knox about them.

One time Dave had been stupid enough to ask about those time, the real arrests that mattered, not those drunk bar fights or public indecency bullshit one nights in jail, but about the reason he had a huge scar running up across his abdomen. Bro knew the kid had always been eager to ask about it, eyes staring at it from behind those little mini shades he gave him. Bro set him the fuck straight on that, left the kid littered with bruises of black and blue, eye swollen shut, and lip split Dave didn’t ask stupid questions about it anymore.

 

Bro doesn’t talk about the arrest that got him the scar. Doesn’t talk about how he had move into the city to escape THAT record. Because shit was embarrassing. That shit was WEAK and Bro motherfucking Strider doesn’t do weak. So he doesn’t talk about that fuck up.

 

Because that’s what it was.

 

A fuck up.

 

A drunken bar fight that got out of hand. Way out of hand. He should have handled it better. Looking back there were a million other fucking ways to handle that shit then pulling a katana out, too drunk to properly hold it, too high to stand up right, too cocky to think he could lose, to young to be doing all that shit at once-- but sobriety and time were a 20/20 fucking hindsight. Bro doesn’t crossfade anymore cause of it.

 

Sometimes he thinks back on it. Alone in the shower, unable to hide the old wound, unable to hide from how wrecked his life has become. Taking care of a kid of all things. He ain't even sure he likes the kid but he isn't sure he hates the kid either. The scar though? He hates that fucking ugly thing. Sometimes thinks of letting Dave get an easy shot on him just to cover it up. Kid would probably cry like a little bitch if he did that though so Bro never goes through with that plan. It’s a stupid one anyway.

 

But he thinks back to it when he catches fuckers looking too long at the kid, they don’t think he sees them but he fucking does. Sometimes it’s to look at the bruises the brat couldn’t be bothered to fucking hide right, sometimes its for other reasons. He thinks about the arrest and the scar, and the booze in his system as he kept flirting with guys to buy him drinks since he was too young to do it himself, thinking about the pills he popped before entering the club to burn off energy, thinking about how no one questioned his shit because it was tight and he had the confidence to act like he belonged there, thinking about the hand that wouldn’t fucking leave his damn ass when he told them to piss off. Not his type: aka, ugly. Thinks about how the guy wouldn’t leave off so he got out his sword and was too drunk to handle it right. Too drunk, too high, too stupid, and too strife hungry. Thinks about how good it felt to stab through that hand, the warm blood splashing over his face and the screams of that cock-sure-asshole as the pain finally registered with him. Thinks on how he stabbed the guy again and again, all with the shittiest of aim because he could barely focus on what he was attacking. Thinks how he was too drunk to hold the sword so when the guy ran the blade slipped from his fingers, forgotten in his hazy state of mind when he bolted from the scene of the crime.

 

No, fuck that shit, he didn’t run, Striders don’t run. He sauntered out of there like a badass, hooked up with some guy who didn’t mind the blood, or was too drunk to notice it, and came home to find men in blue.

 

Bro thinks on the court and how it wasn’t anything like it is on tv, shit was DULL as sin and he would have paid them to decree him guilty if it meant less time with those over paid lawyers droning on and on. They got him a lesser sentence, self defense, but he still had to serve time because apparently defending yourself with a badass sword and causing a few minor stab wounds was ‘too extreme’ for normal self defense. He’d fucking missed all the important bits of the pervert he didn’t see why they were bitching.

 

Too young to buy beer too old to be sent to juvie.

 

Prison doesn’t like fags. No, Bro is going to correct that statement; prison does in fact like fags, just not ones like him: ones who fight back, take charge, and don’t bottom out like cheap hooker selling herself on the corner of minimart central.

 

He also liked to strife. No. Bro corrects once again. He fucking loves to strife.

 

Problem is prison doesn’t strife like he does, one on one with blades forge in the purest of badassery. No, apparently everyone there is a fucking pussy and jumps you in a group because they aren’t man enough to handle you alone themselves. Fuckers.

 

Bro can fight multiple people with a blade, a good blade, not a shitty katana gotten at your local convention with fat greasy nerds sweating and mouth breathing around you let alone one tiny ass piece of crap shiv-- he can’t fist fight five guys at once at age 20.

Doesn’t mean he doesn’t try. Striders don’t back down. Striders fight to the fucking end, till they can’t stand, till they are bleeding out or can’t fucking move anymore. That’s how Striders do it. That’s what he is teaching Dave.

 

Asshats found that out quickly enough when he didn’t go down like some pussy prison bitch. Broken an arm, a few smashed noses-- his own included, and left plenty of marks before one of them finally ended it. Stabbed him right in the stomach with a shitty plastic makeshift knife. It hurt way more than a real blade. Real metal cuts in quick, stings but it ends soon enough. Plastic… plastic is torn in, too blunt to really slice and dice, so it gets in your guts by ramrodding it’s way through. Bro thinks on how he still kicked and fought till one of them grabbed it and YANKED it upward and then he stopped fighting because he was choking on blood suddenly in his throat.

 

Bro doesn’t think about what happened afterwards.

 

It was a lesson learned. Don’t get fucking sloppy. Never leave evidence behind. Don’t be anywhere without a sword. That last one he took to heart. Never left the anywhere without his blade and the apartment was covered in them, no Strider would want for protection with those babies laying around.

 

He doesn’t tell people about the 2 years in jail.

 

Well. He does.

 

He tells people the funny parts.

 

Like the time he blew a guy, stole his clothes, and forced him to walk out into the cafeteria butt ass naked. Then the guy got stabbed and died. Unrelated but still amusing as fuck how things can work out. Irony man, fucking irony.

 

Bro instead tells people, and sometimes Dave, about the amusing reasons he’s been arrest. Like the time he thought he could drive backwards down the highway at midnight. Or the time when he was a kid he thought he could steal a flat screen TV with nothing but a bike, some bungee cord, and his good looks. He would have gotten away with that one if the bitches dad hadn’t walked in as he was loading up the flat screen.

 

Dave liked that one. Drew a whole comic related to the story and Bro put it on the fridge where it stayed until shurikin finally destroyed it. He’d replace it but he can’t fucking recall when the comic had been posted and he’s too lazy to go and find it.

 

Sometimes.

 

Very rarely.

 

Bro will think about how it felt to hurt that pervert who he stabbed, over and over again, and how it feels to hit Dave. He’ll think about how it makes him feel in control and powerful, a heat pumping through his veins that burns like fire in the best of ways. A feeling you can get drunk on and lose yourself too, greedily hungering for more.

 

He doesn’t think about that often. He doesn’t want to. Doesn’t like what that could say about him. But there is nothing to say if he doesn’t think about it.

 

So he doesn’t.

 

Unless he is so drunk that remorse starts to kick in. Weakness seeps through him and makes his limbs heavy with guilt and pity. He thinks about the shank in his side and thinks about Dave’s tears. Thinks about how they both felt like lava and ice, so hot and cold, pulling him down into a darkness that was inescapable. Bro gets weepy on those nights and he fucking hates it. It isn’t him. Not really. It’s alcohol fueled bullshit. It’s not real.

 

He’ll beg the brat to come close, hold him tight and just thinks… on how that knife felt, how those hands on him felt, and thinks about the bruises on Dave’s sides, thinks about the broken limbs, thinks about the black eyes, and Bro knows that fear the kid is feeling; because he once felt it. Know that terror of what's going to come and can’t stop it. Know what it’s like not to be the biggest fish in the sea, to be swallowed up by something more than you and torn to pieces in its gut.

 

It’s disgustingly weak.

 

Bro swears to never get that drunk again, swears on Lil’Cal, swears on his swords, his shades, on anything he can swear to. 2 to 4 months later he’s back in Dave’s room, clinging to brat like he’s some sort of life line.

 

Fucking pathetic.

 

Bro never says a word during these times. He sure as fuck doesn’t apologize. He just holds the kid. Hating himself. Hating his weakness. Hating that he can’t see a difference between the guys who attacked him at 20 and who he is now.

 

Then morning comes, he sobers the fuck up, and doesn’t think on it again. Least not for a few more months.

 

Hard to run from the past when it’s engraved on your skin.

 

Kid probably thinks the same thing too.


End file.
